


Human Rituals

by FythyrWisp



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute, Destiel - Freeform, One Shot, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FythyrWisp/pseuds/FythyrWisp
Summary: A simple Mistake, a small Mistunderstanding, and an opportunity not Mist.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 11





	Human Rituals

* * *

The sleek black sedan rumbled off of the highway, and onto the narrow, dark, poorly maintained county road.

Night came early, as winter wasn't quite over, not even this far south, as he was someplace between College Station and Waco, making his way back to Kansas. At least it wasn't cold.

He'd been pulled over. Once on his way to Navasota, and again, in the tiny town he'd come through about five miles back, he was sure it started with a C. The spell was starting to wear off.

Luckily for Dean Winchester, however, the main ingredient, the one he'd hate to admit to, the keystone in the spell his father had gotten from a wild weekend with a Wiccan a long time ago, the one Sam didn't need to know about... Well, that ingredient, the dirty little secret between him and his Baby, that grew on trees. At least it did here. And it was the perfect time to grab it.

His brother had checked in, there was nothing to be too concerned about. He had picked up a fresh amethyst, smoky quartz, and serpentine from a hippie-dippie gift shop a while back, knowing roughly how long it took for the concoction to wear off. Salt, he always had. Vetivert oil was a little harder to find, but stashed away, wrapped in a red rag in the trunk was a supply that had served him well since he'd run out of John's old bottle five years back.

If he could find a clump of green hanging in one of these otherwise bare, leafless trees, he'd be good to go. Knock out the spell in a hotel room on the way back, a little perceived 'spit shine' in the parking lot, and Baby would be all set for another two and a half years.

He slowed the car, carefully examining the lowest branches of the trees that grew along the fence line on either side of the road. Just a handful of this one particular tree-weed, a parasite, and he'd be set.

The spell was unique, designed to protect, not just the car, but also passengers and cargo, to bend a few laws where physics were concerned, he guessed, it did seem to have an effect on making good time, but his primary reason for maintaining it, even after every nasty encounter with witches, was that there was an overall theme of invisibility that was active while the car was in motion... To cops, and their speedtraps, anyhow. When the spell was working as intended, even Sam couldn't get pulled over.

Dean spotted a hefty, unmistakable clump low enough on an otherwise bare branch, and stopped the car. He got out, crossing the headlights, and shone a flashlight into the tree to check for certain that there were no opossums. Not after last time.

Finding the coast clear, and the clump of mistletoe low enough to avoid climbing, Dean carefully picked a path through the weeds toward his selected branch. Mistletoe was the necessary material to bring about invisibility and tie all the rest of the hocus pocus together. And it was as simple as-... Well, there was the required act of requesting it from the tree, but the trees never did say one way or the other, and the mistletoe was feeding off the damn tree to start with, so, to Dean's mind, he was doing the overgrown broccoli a favor. Dumbest thing he ever saw his father do, he was sure, but begrudgingly, he followed the prescribed rules to the letter. It was simply too important to risk the spell going awry and doing who-knows-what to his car.

He was nearing the branch as he stepped carefully, watching his footing, "Hey there, uh, tree. Listen, you don't know me, but I'm not here to mess with you, or damage you, I just need to grab some of your mistletoe, and... well, it's kinda important, so if-..."

His voice trailed off as he came to a stop, finding his path toward the branch blocked by three strands of thick, rusty barbed wire.

Dean sighed, and looked around for another low clump of leafy strands, but found none readily available. With a plaintive groan, he resigned himself to the process of passing through the fence, placing a foot on one line between the barbs to press it down, and lifting the next to make an opening to duck through. His father had always made it look so easy, but it was not his favorite activity by a long shot.

The flashlight jostled as he moved awkwardly, briefly second-guessing his decision to leave the car running. He'd only intended to be a moment.

And that's when it happened.

Dean's effort to hold down the barbed wire with one foot, hold it up with one hand, and keep the flashlight in his other hand while moving his free foot through the gap created while in a rather indelicate squat lead to the usual disaster. His free foot hadn't lifted high enough, the toe of his boot caught on the barbed wire, and with minimal scratches he found himself on his back, the required mistletoe dangling above, a roundish clump of sprigs the size of a toolbox, almost taunting him.

He reached for the flashlight where it had fallen from his hand and pointed it toward his legs, which he soon discovered were caught, denim impaled of sharp barbs, and one leg, despite his attempt, was very much stuck.

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled, pulling at his jeans only to have the metal dig deeper into his skin.

Wincing at the extra pain, he struggled onto his elbows as he tried to uncatch the pierced and twisted denim, but the thick seams at the hem and inseam of his inner ankle were making it more difficult than he'd expected. He'd been about to sit up properly to work at the mangled, bloody knot of wire and torn fabric when a wispy rattling sound made him freeze.

He knew it had reached about sixty-five degrees that afternoon, but even so, argued, "No. No way, no, it's February, you're supposed to be hibernating, or-"

A hiss joined the rattle at an unidentifiable distance.

"Fucking Texas," Dean's eyes darted, looking for the source of the sounds, but he didn't dare move. He swore the place was much like a lighter version of Australia, most things weren't looking to kill you, just maim you horribly while leaving a small window through which you might survive. 

"Cas?" Dean called quietly, hoping desperately Castiel would be able to pick up on it, "You would not believe this one, can you please just get here? I'm stuck, and I'm at... Shit, I don't know what road this is-"

Footsteps approached quickly from the direction of the road, following the path Dean had thought he'd picked carefully, moving at twice the speed he'd used, and a raspy, familiar voice accompanied it, "I wouldn't do that, you wouldn't live long enough for a second strike. There's a rat guarding her nest one third of a mile southeast of here. Dinner or certain death, choose wisely."

Dean barely made sense of his words before a soft rustling slid through the grass away from him, and Castiel was quickly at his side, freeing his caught pant leg. He'd expected, as Castiel was a bit of a worry-wort, two receive the usual tap of two fingers to his face in order to stave off tetanus, infection, or whatever might concern him this time, but Castiel turned in place, and glancing up, noted the plant above them, "Human rituals. I may never understand them."

"Yeah, well, I don't argue with stuff I've seen work, so-" Dean began.

"Of course," Castiel replied, letting one knee drop to the ground as he leaned over Dean's still reclined frame and planted a firm, slightly damp kiss before pulling away, "Will that be enough?"

Stunned, Dean stammered slightly, "Enou-... What the hell was that?"

"So you can move. You said you were stuck, and I understand that's a superstition regarding stepping out from under mistletoe," Castiel explained, standing, and reaching to help Dean to his feet.

"At Christmas, sure, but-"

"I thought it was a winter tradition?"

"Yeah, but it's-"

"Saint Valentine's Day," Castiel answered, "It's still winter. Are they not connected? It seems as though they would be."

"Uh," Dean, now righted, and his leg feeling far less painful, motioned to the parasitic plant within arm's reach, "I just needed to get some of this for a spell. I don't put any stock in the whole mistletoe thing, not even at Christmas."  
Even in the dark, he could see that Castiel's features fell slightly, "I've made this awkward. I'm sorry, I thought-"

"Can you ask the tree for me?" Dean interrupted, still uncertain how to take the entire situation, "Part of getting the stuff is that I'm supposed to ask the tree if that's okay, but it's not like I can hear the tree, if it can even hear me, so, I don't even know if that part of the spell matters."

His focus drawn, Castiel nodded, and set his hand on the branch. In the space of a weak gust of wind, the clump of mistletoe released, as did several others on the rest of the tree, which dropped at once to the ground, apart from the ones above his head which landed on him more directly.

"The tree was glad to be rid of them," Castiel said quietly, "You can take as much as you like."

"Great," Dean said dryly, pulling a short sprig from the back of his collar, "Actually, this should be plenty. Um, hey, thanks, tree."

Castiel looked up toward the center of the mass of branches once again and Dean noticed a hint of a smile. He wondered if the tree had said something amusing in reply, but thinking of the stuff chairs and tables were often made of, decided not to dwell on it.

"And thank you, Cas. For getting that snake to back off. I gotta watch where I'm going, or make more noise or somethi-" Dean stopped short of the barbed wire fence, but before the obstacle could become an issue Castiel took a firm hold on Dean's hand and they were suddenly a few steps on the other side of it, "...How did you find me, anyway?"

"I knew you were going to Navasota, so I listened for the car."

Dean chuckled, "Good thing I left her running."

Castiel shot him a quizzical look, "I wasn't listening for the engine."

In a split second, Dean decided he didn't want to know the answers to the many questions he had on that subject, "Okay... uh, that's-um, fine. Listen, we're good, though, I get it, human superstitions or whatever. The other thing, I mean. It doesn't need to be a big deal, just a little," his voice softened as Castiel's steps slowed, "...misunderstanding."

"I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable," Castiel stated gently.

Dean shook his head, "I was just surprised, that's all."

Castiel seemed to think it over, "You didn't find that objectionable?"

Answering haltingly, Dean replied, "Uh, I- just... I mean... Stubble was different. Yeah. Stubble. That was a new one for me. That was not at all what I'm used to. But otherwise, that was..." the words were on the tip of his tongue, _like kissing anybody, I guess,_ but it wasn't anybody. It was someone who wouldn't be left in the dust in the next twelve hours. It was someone who'd stuck by him through thick and thin, someone who'd never even met him and yet descended to Hell to save him, had turned his back on Heaven for him, it was _Cas_ and Cas wasn't just anybody, "Well... I mean, you're a guy, but, yeah, it was okay."

"I'm not. My vessel is male, but it isn't my original. You would've found her far more attractive, but she died decades ago, and... I couldn't in good conscious keep Claire, not after Jimmy asked me to take him instead. At least that worked out for the best," Castiel muttered.

"You're not..." Dean gestured toward Castiel's chest, "a 'dude' angel? So, what, you're like, girly on the inside, just happen to be stuck in a guy's meatsuit?"

Castiel shrugged, "There are plenty of humans in a similar condition, believe me. But, not exactly, as angels are less focused on gender. Some have none, wheels within wheels, and others... It doesn't matter."

Dean huffed, "Social construct, anyway. Or, that's what I've heard."

Castiel looked to the Impala, which held a hint of a tremble where it sat purring a steady note, and pondered Dean's words. He often spoke of the car in the feminine, despite the low rumbles of it's engine, not unlike a deep bass voice, the hard steel reminiscent of thick, heavy muscles, and sharp edges, far from the rounded, curvier, female shape of something like a Dodge Stealth, or a Volkswagen Beetle. Castiel didn't see it, not in the same way, but he wasn't sure if it was simply a human habit, or if there was more that he wasn't aware of. There was always the possibility that rather than the habit of projection, Dean felt a connection with something deeper inside the machine.

"Do you need any help with the spell?" Castiel offered.

Dean shook his head as he continued toward the road, "Nah. Just gotta find a hotel and turn in. I'll worry about it tomorrow."

Castiel nodded as Dean rounded the front of the car, and stopped at the drivers side door, watching the angel over the roof of the sedan. Standing by the side of the road, in his ever-present tan trench coat, Castiel once more looked over the vehicle, this time noting something lacking, something vulnerable.

"Look, I know," Dean prodded, breaking the silence, "She's a lot to take in, sometimes, but are you gonna gawk at her all night, or are you gonna get in?"

Nodding, Castiel continued to the passenger side of the car, and opened the door, following Dean's lead.

The sleek, black car had the brake lights come on briefly before it was shifted into gear and began slowly down the back road, the driver looking for a wide place to turn around, the shadows of the two people in the front seat visible through the back window from the bright headlights emanating from the front end of the car.

Red taillights became brighter not ten yards from where the car had started as the driver applied the brakes once again, bringing the car to a stop for a short moment, during which time the shadow of the driver merged almost entirely into the passenger side of the front seat. 

It was moving again shortly, continuing its planned route back to the highway in search of a hotel.

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N: The town he got pulled over in is Calvert, but there's also a Winchester, TX in that area.
> 
> Around the I-35 corridor the runs through Austin, the east side of the corridor tends to have buttloads of mistletoe, the Blackland Prairie area, but the west side of those counties, along the Balcones Fault, it's a lot harder to find. I live on east side of one of those counties, and was gathering some for a friend who lives on the other side of said corridor, both for spellwork and Christmas decor when I had the idea for this story.
> 
> Also, I'm not saying it works for certain, but, I get pulled over, on average, about every 7 to 9 years or so, and I spend a lot of time behind the wheel.)


End file.
